


Women of Revolution: The Politician

by Corycides



Series: Women of Revolution [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the fact that women are recruited into the militia, we never seem to see any of them. Assuming that General Monroe isn’t keeping them in a pen outside, what are they doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Women of Revolution: The Politician

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Some would argue. Monroe would likely be one of them, but he had a vested interest in the power of the sword. In Julia Neville’s experience, however, a properly applied pen could do wonders.

Sitting in her office she bent diligently over her correspondence, the glasses she only ever wore in private (part vanity, part image and part concern about losing them) balanced on her nose. The nib of her fountain pen scratched over the paper, her painstakingly relearnt cursive elegant as she reminded Una exactly what the woman owed her.

Monroe didn’t like woman. He fucked them - Julia had a list of the type and number and names of women he’d fucked, it could be useful one day - but he didn’t like them. Women were trained (re-educated, and really that seemed ridiculously excessive to Julia) for the militia and served in the militia, but few of them rose to significant command level.

Officers who listened too closely to their spouses found themselves escorting a cart to California.

The smooth line of Julia’s script wobbled a little at that thought, the nib digging into the paper.

She had been so close to losing everything, because if Tom had let Jason go it would have killed any love she had for him. Because it hadn’t been easy to love him. He was gone so long and when he was here, Julia had to play the modest, grateful wife to protect their prospects.

Once upon a time it had been easy, because it was true. When Monroe first offered them sanctuary, position, she’d been undone with gratitude.

The militia had offered safety and order while they waited for the world to become sane again. Except, it turned out that madness suited the Nevilles.

The anger that used to eat away at Tom’s stomach till he ate Tums like candy had a purpose, a direction, and Julia…?

She had been a suburban housewife, a paralegal turned stay-at-home mom. During the afternoon she would sit down in front of the TV and watch Days of our Lives over her salad sandwich, imagining being one of those rich, manipulative women. Now she was and she was good at it.

When Una Stoll’s foolish little dalliance had started to make demands, she’d gotten rid of him and allayed Una’s husband’s fear. It had earned her gratitude, and fear since it would easy to unallay them.

The Neville’s housewife Naya Lopez had been one of Drexel’s cast-offs, promised the world and given a drug-habit and nightmares. Julia had given her a job, the protection of the militia and told other wives just what a treasure the woman was. And all she asked in return was the occasional … it wasn’t even a lie really, more a speculation they made sound certain. It had turned out they were right hadn’t it?

Poor John. Not that it was her fault, Monroe could have behaved like a reasonable human and used the discovery as a lever. Instead, he’d had a loyal man beaten to death.

It had been Miles behind the militia. Julia hadn’t realized it before he left; Matheson played a good brainless thug, everyone thought he was the brain and Monroe was the brains. Only if Monroe had ever had any idea about how the militia worked as a structure he had forgotten it. Fear could be useful, but only if it was the substrate of loyalty.

Julia’s little web of informants and whispering lips might fear what she’d do if they crossed her, but they appreciated the awards of loyalty more.

If the way lights went back on, that would be a game-changer. But as the way things stood, Julia thought things would start to crumble in a few years. Someone would realize how easy it would be to desert, others would follow and someone among those that stayed would challenge Monroe. The Republic would splinter, like Alexander’s Empire when he died.

Unless, someone stepped in before that happened, of course. Someone the men trusted, someone who had proved himself…

Annoyance twisted Julia’s lips. Someone who made his move before he became known as Monroe’s torturer-in-chief. She signed her name across the bottom of the letter and blotted the page carefully. Maybe Monroe wasn’t as obtuse as she thought.

Slim, carefully manicured fingers folded the letter and slid into the waiting envelope. She didn’t bother sealing it. Monroe read all the communications that any of the militia, or their family, based in the city sent. There were ways to smuggle the letters out, of course. That was a risk though, it flagged the very act of communication as subversive, so Julia was just…discreet.

The people who needed to know what she meant would, and, hopefully, Monroe would just think she was a lonely middle-aged woman. More fool him.

Julia laid the letter with the rest going out today and got up, shrugging out of her robe. She lifted the red dress from the cupboard.

Red was her signature colour, her hue of rebellion. The other wives and girlfriends tended towards modest, practical dress – housewives circa 1920. She wore tight red dresses and looted louboutins.

She twisted her arms back to zip herself up. Julia Neville was a weasel among mice, and Monroe would find that out to his cost. He should never have hurt her son. Before it had just been part of the game, now she wanted him to bleed.


End file.
